The Dock


My aimless stroll ended at the edge of a splintered dock
as I stared out in silence at the horizon
the only thing I can find emptier than me
salt water and hidden storms and passing clouds
fill us both
but my tides do not rise and fall so regularly
do not follow such a natural rhythm
my face shifts with the wind and I watch the birds diving and think
of how long I could sit here without being missed
I’m not sure what is worse, the being missed
or the not
I startle some small fish with the to and fro of my feet
while I wonder if I stay still and quiet for long time
letting the tension flow from me
if it would seep between the cracks of these boards and leave
an empty husk
translucent and clinging in my place
until the salt air whipped it away
startling the small fish once again…




About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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One Response to The Dock

  1. debra says:

    I absolutely love this! Excellent writing! Peace 🙂

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